


Secrets of Versailles

by delarus



Category: Versailles (TV 2015)
Genre: Angst, Before 1 Season, Getting Together, Getting to Know Each Other, Historical Inaccuracy, Kissing, M/M, Mentions of Sex, Miscommunication, Possibly Unrequited Love
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-08-19
Updated: 2021-01-20
Packaged: 2021-03-06 02:40:28
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 16,545
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25996144
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/delarus/pseuds/delarus
Summary: Chevalier de Lorraine is at the palace of secrets, where they are created and then consumed by hungry nobles. However, some secrets have their own ways of being discovered."No one knew the real desires of Chevalier de Lorraine’s heart. Not even himself."But perhaps, Versailles knew.
Relationships: Chevalier de Lorraine/Philippe d'Orléans | Monsieur (Versailles 2015)
Comments: 8
Kudos: 27





	1. The heart’s desires

**Author's Note:**

> This is a result of a sudden burst of energy and creativity. Secrets of Versailles is the first fic that saw the light of day. Only the idea of my work being out there for everyone to see makes me anxious but I've promised to myself to release something by the end of this summer, so I guess, yey! I love the occasional rush of adrenaline for breakfast, lunch, and dinner! No, but really I'm happy to finally bite the bullet and step out of my comfort zone (which is writing, leaving the document collect dust, and after a casual revisit, hating what I wrote). Hope you'll tag along through this journey of discovering zones other than comfort!
> 
> Just a heads up, I'm not a native English speaker, so sorry in advance for any grammatical and punctuation errors, or awkward wording. I'm open to constructive criticism and/or anything in between. Enjoy and stay safe!

Versailles was not only a beating heart of France but secrets as well. Yet, some secrets were beyond what its scandalous walls could handle. 

Residents of the infamous palace saw him stroll through halls on a daily basis. Casually chatting with noble men and women, offering his company for the evening. You couldn’t mistake this man for anyone else because of his bright, charming personality and humorous way of talking. Flirtatious soul at that, however, no one got lucky to keep his interest for more than an evening. No one knew the real desires of Chevalier de Lorraine’s heart. Not even himself.

“Madame, would you like me to show you around Versailles?” Chevalier asked the noblewoman that was hanging on his arm. 

“I would be delighted.” Her sweeter than honey voice matched with her smile as though they were made for each other. 

Chevalier showed his teeth through a wide smile he gave to men and women he found himself flirting with that evening.

“You seem extremely knowledgeable about this place.” The woman said as they walked through the garden. 

“Versailles is much more than a palace,” Chevalier flickered his eyes at madame that was watching him with much interest, “it’s a lifestyle.”

Chevalier offered her a smirk and at that exact moment, a flicker of adoration could be seen in her eyes. She remained hung by his side, watching the man as though he’s the king of France himself. 

Chevalier de Lorraine always had his way with words and subtle gestures. He could win any heart in Versailles. 

The woman who was now adjoined to Chevalier’s side started to stare up and down him, suggesting a clear invite to one of more than 600 rooms in the palace. Chevalier smiled at her as he unlocked their arms, making them both stop in the middle of an empty pathway. 

“And I’m sure it will most certainly accept madame with a warm embrace,” the corners of Chevalier’s lips rose for a smidge, making the smile seem rather sad than anything more, “but it won’t be mine I’m afraid.”

His words forced a frown from madame, making her lock her eyes to the ground so as to not show the genuine sadness that that brought her. She said her goodbyes but didn’t dare to pick up her gaze from Chevalier’s shoes to his eyes, swiftly leaving him standing on the pathway all alone. 

Yes, indeed, Chevalier could have any noblewoman or man in Versailles, however, only he knew what he truly wanted.

§

“You look miserable, my dare cousin.” Chevalier jumped in his skin by a stern but sickly sweet voice of his cousin Beatrice.

“Yes,” a much quieter voice, overflowing with sweetness, came from the other side of him, “your face lost its color.”

Sophie, Beatrice's one and only daughter, smiled with her teeth, waiting for her uncle’s witty response. She was way too inexperienced to know the labyrinths of one's heart, especially one's yearning one. In a way, it was endearing to look at, but the view didn’t lessen his pain; in fact, it twisted the knife that was already pierced through his heart. However, the blood that was soaking through his expensive shirt and jacket didn’t matter; the hurting heart will heal.

Chevalier smiled while looking into her niece’s eyes and took her hand. “It’s all the powder, my dare.” He placed a gentle kiss on the back of her hand, still locking his eyes with her deep hazel ones.

Sophie’s cheeks filled as the corners of her lips lifted. Perhaps the smile couldn’t quite fill the massive hole in Chevalier’s heart, but for sure it made him forget it was there. 

The sudden uproar that was in an instant followed by deadly silence drew their attention. Solid, but at the same time, a heavenly ethereal stature of King Louis XIV was standing in the entrance of the salon with Marie-Therese of Spain beside him. Everyone made themselves smaller, offering their obedience to a God on Earth, while he drifted through a man-made corridor. 

And maybe, just maybe, Chevalier wouldn’t have noticed another figure making its way behind the king if it wouldn’t have been Philippe. Chevalier followed monsieur with his eyes, as he walked towards a table, behind which the king has already been seated. Philippe had something about him that made him seem untouchable, only scenery to indulge yourself in but never experience its true beauty. Even his brother had nothing against the sheer power of Philippe’s stature. 

“It’s the king, mother,” Sophie whispered as her voice jumped at least two octaves higher. 

Chevalier felt Beatrice’s hand brushing against his back as she grabbed her daughter’s arm and pulled her closer so that only three of them could hear it. 

“Remember, look at his majesty as a gazelle and let him be a lion, but don’t forget,” she tugged at her even more, so that not even Chevalier could hear, “he’s indeed a wolf, and you’re a fox.”

Beatrice let her daughter’s hand and pushed her towards an already overcrowded space, where nobles gathered around the table at which a tense game of cards was going on between two brothers. Chevalier saw as his niece swirled around all the hungry nobles haunting for Louis’ attention, or at least to see his majesty from as close as it was possible. Chevalier could mock his pears, so desperately trying to catch the king’s eyes, but he was no different from them. The only difference was whose eyes he craved to catch. 

“I can smell it from here.” Beatrice’s voice was now close to his ear, making him way too aware of his own breathing. 

Chevalier refused to react. He knew his cousin way too well. Give her a drop of blood and she will trace you back in minutes. 

Chevalier demonstrated him sniffing the collar of his jacket and immediately furrowing his eyebrows and puckering the bridge of his nose. “It really does. I will ask my maids to take care of the smell.”

For a minute it seemed like he had tamed the shark, but Beatrice immediately made him realize that it was impossible. 

She leaned in and whispered while smiling ear to ear. “You know, cousin, you should act before he finds another toy for himself.”

It was pointless to act clueless because Chevalier knew well that it won’t make her fall for any other truth, and deep down he admitted that Beatrice was right. 


	2. One step forward, two steps back

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for those who left kudos or even just read it. It means a lot. I know that may sound cliche, but that made me push myself to write. Thank you for the motivation reimbursement.   
> On the other note, I hope you'll enjoy this next chapter. I had a shitty day and editing it made me forget about it. I hope it'll have the same effect on you as it did on me, and you'll forget about the world surrounding you, even if just for a split moment. Take care!

Chevalier’s eyes followed Philippe’s fingers as they ran through the edges of his cards. Even his casual movements looked calculated and thought out from start to finish. Chevalier would look at Philippe’s face every so often, searching for something less than godly, something that would make him at hands reach. However, rather than seeing Philippe’s face, Chevalier saw a royal one, glazed with thick cold poise. Even if there was something human underneath, Chevalier doubted he’ll be the one to discover the scope of monsieur’s heart. 

Philippe’s eyes sparkled, and a hardly noticeable smile floated up from the depths of something human. Chevalier noticed the non-existent card pile on the table and only one card left in Philippe’s hands. He turned his gaze to Philippe's opponent, that so happened to be the king of France himself. Two cards were in between king’s fingers. 

It seemed that Philippe remembered his role, because the shine that once was dancing in the pupil’s of his eyes dwindled, leaving monsieur staring down at his only card. Chevalier saw how Philippe's hand lingered on the corner of the card for a second longer when finally, he laid it face-down on the table. 

“You win, brother.” To an untrained eye, his smile could look as a congratulatory one, but it lacked the usual enthusiasm.

Louis placed his own two cards facing up, his eyes sparkling with pride, and a smile stretched so his teeth could be seen. “Maybe next time, brother.”

As everyone in the salon engulfs in ovations, the king stood up from the table and walked away with a confidant stance, as though the win at a card game would have been a triumph against Holland. As he was approaching another game table, everyone followed Louis like a herd of animals. Only Chevalier and Philippe left standing in their places.

Chevalier knew that even the slightest mistake could cost him his place at the palace, the court, and most certainty at the side of Philippe. An uncalculated move or word could be the end of Chevalier de Lorraine as he was. Yet, the prickling realization that this could be the only opportunity for him to even stand a chance to win Philippe over made Beatrice’s words ring in his head even louder. So he reached for monsieur’s card and stopped in his tracks to let Philippe look up at him. Chevalier wasn’t the one to get week knees, but as soon as Philippe’s ice-cold eyes glared at him, he thought this was it, and he’ll be escorted from the premises of Versailles right away. 

“Pity, not everyone knows the real winner.” Chevalier flipped the card, revealing one that could have won the match for Philippe. 

He saw the iciness that previously coated his eyes, thaw, leaving the silence coming from monsieur not as threatening as it felt moments ago. The man looked back at the card that Chevalier still had his hand lingering on, and back at Chevalier. He saw Philippe contemplating something but finally giving in. 

“You seem to be able to read cards without even seeing them. Hope no one realizes that.” Philippe was careful not to say too much, leaving room for a quick escape. 

Chevalier leaned in and covered his mouth from one side. “I thought the point of this game was cheating.” He whispered comedically too loud, but not loud enough for others to hear.

When suddenly he saw a slight smile playing on Philippe’s lips, Chevalier felt a wave of excitement wash over him. 

“Well,” Philippe collected all the cards from the table, “let’s see how well you see the cards.” 

While he shuffled, Chevalier took a seat in front of Philippe, feeling another, much bigger wave crashing into him, leaving him out of breath. One was standing near him the next, was sitting right in front of monsieur, feeling his presence closer than you ever dreamed of. Even if today was the first and the last time, Chevalier was sure he’ll reminisce about this moment till the last breath he’ll take. 

§

As they played the tenth match that night, they sipped red wine from their cut-glass glasses, trying to savor each other's company before it started to generate gossip. Probably it was the share amount of wine that he consumed throughout the night, but Chevalier began to relax, taking a back seat and letting everything go its natural furrow. And it seemed that Philippe was doing the same. For the first time this evening, Chevalier heard monsieur’s laugh, saw his smile, and, most importantly, look at Chevalier with familiarity. The salon never died down, contrary to that, it started to get stuffier and so appeared more eyewitnesses to Philippe’s and Chevalier’s friendly conversation. 

Philippe placed his cards face-down on the table veiled with thick velvet tablecloth and leaned close enough for Chevalier’s eyesight to be filled only with monsieur’s face.

“Would you like to keep me company in the garden?” Philippe muttered.

Chevalier’s heart trembled, and an electric current was sent straight through every single cell in his body. “I would love to.” He whispered back, making Philippe show his teeth, thus forcing Chevalier to catch his breath before standing up.

The night was brisk, as it was already mid-autumn. Despite that, Chevalier felt warmth engulf him from the top of his head to his toes. As they slowly made their way around the fountain that was at the furthest left corner of the garden, Chevalier could hear life reaching its peak elsewhere, far away from them. Yet, he had no desire to live it. He found the night walk with Philippe much more pleasing than any party in Versailles. 

“Quite, aren’t we?” 

Chevalier turned to a familiar voice next to him, bringing him back to the life he chose to live at that moment and, if an opportunity presents itself, for every single one till the last. 

A longing smile resurfaced on the blond man's face. “I’m sorry, I’m not usually this quiet.”

“And why  _ not usually _ is now?”

Only an imprint of the smile remained on his face. “Walks with the right people make me think.”

“About something in particular?” Philippe’s eyes sparkled with a certain mystery in the silver moonlight. 

“Life, I suppose. What kind of life I’m living right now and what kind I would like to truly be a part of.”

Philippe didn’t say anything for a while, letting the silence linger around them. Chevalier saw Philippe’s eyes digging right through his, reaching the soul itself. This time, however, the gaze wasn’t threatening. Philippe was performing an autopsy with his stare, as though searching for a hidden message behind his words. In a way, Chevalier hoped that Philippe would find the words that spoke the real truth:  _ I want my life to include you and no one else _ .

Philippe finally tore his gaze from Chevalier, leaving the withheld message float above them. “What kind of life would you like to live?”

Chevalier gave it a minute of thought before saying, “I have lived through a better part of my life pretending to be satisfied only by earthly pleasures, but I realized that I had let myself believe this truth because I was scared to admit my own immaturity.” The sound of gravel beneath their shoe sole’s filled the background in between words. “In reality, the only way I’m willing to enjoy these pleasures we were given is with someone whose heart longs for the same things.”

Only the sound of crunching rock pieces left in the air, giving some time for the words to sink in amidst these bits, filling every crack, leaving them feel suffocated by both of theirs realizations, and at the same time comforted by their shared idea. 

“I know what you mean.” The sudden Philippe’s confession made Chevalier peek at him. “Learning the truth and living it may sound similar, but in actuality, these are two greatly different ways of living. The one by betraying yourself and the other by betraying your purpose. Neither is ideal, but living with the burden of betraying your whole self is so much greater than with the idea of what you should do.”

When they reached the middle of the garden, Chevalier felt the weight of Philippe’s eyes on him once again, so he dared to look back at him. There was an invisible string of sorrow stretched between two islands, unexpectedly connecting them both perhaps not to live it but share it. The hurt that spread from both ends met in the middle, not exchanging it but rather gobbling each other. It didn’t hurt more; it made a home inside each other, giving so needed comfort to the owners. 

“Monsieur!” A woman’s voice came from behind, cutting off the fragile string between Philippe and him. “Monsieur!”

When she reached them, Chevalier remembered the face of a woman he shared company with while walking through the gardens in the first part of the day. He saw the same hooded eyes and the sweet smirk that only left her face once before, as he let her go her own way at the end of the walk that morning.

“I have been searching for you everywhere, monsieur. I know today may not turn out so well, but I would like to ask you to give me a second chance.” Only then did she notice someone else standing near Chevalier. “I hope I’m not disturbing you-“ 

Madam’s eyes doubled in size after the contour of the figure filled in, and she realized who the other man was.

“Oh… Oh my… I’m so sorry, your highness.” She scrambled the last few words that left inside her mouth. “I didn’t anticipate seeing your highness here at this hour. I’m so sorry, I will go.”

As she was bowing, ready to leave, Philippe stopped her. “Oh no, madam.” Cool air swooshed over Chevalier. “You may stay. I was about to leave anyway.”

Madam perked up in an instant, bowed once again, even though Philippe had already started to walk away. The trail of ice-cold air left behind him, making Chevalier realize how chilly it was in autumn, at this hour. 


	3. Nothing compares to you

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Offf, this was a beast to write and edit! Sorry for the delayed update, but I hope you'll like it.   
> As the new school year started, I have no idea if I'll be able to update this fic consistently, but I hope uni won't kill me completely, and I'll be able to write like usual. If you're back at school/uni, hope it goes well, and those who haven't, good luck at whatever you're doing. Take care, everyone!

Sun was grazing against Chevalier’s skin as he stood in front of the window. It never came to mind how gorgeous nature was here. Gold, hardwood floors, and crystal chandeliers didn’t compare to the beauty outside the walls. There you were able to forget your sense of belonging and hide from those who forced it onto you.

Unfortunately, the sight of the great gardens of Versailles made Chevalier’s mouth fill up with the bittersweet taste, swirling around every one of his teeth. After telling madame he wasn’t going to give her a second chance and enduring a suffocating sense of sorrow as he made his way back to his room, Chevalier let the feeling consume him before falling asleep. Not a single drop of tear was shed that night, but as he was gazing into the distance beyond the window, Chevalier could feel prickling in the corners of his eyes. 

And if he wouldn’t have been in the heart of France, the greatest palace in Europe, perhaps then Chevalier would have stayed behind, let his heart sting for a little while. This wasn’t the case, though. He was in Versailles, where not showing up could place an end to your carrier and image. Hence, Chevalier didn’t let tears sting his eyes for any longer, stepped out of his suite, and made his way to the salon, where he played a few rounds of card games, drank wine, and ignored the sting.

§

“Aren’t your eyes red?” Beatrice asked after two games of cards. 

Unsuspecting is to let people gain an advantage, thus, Chevalier had already figured his answer to such questions before stepping out of his suite. “Some of us have more fun than others,” Chevalier said as he placed his last card on the table and won the game.

Beatrice smiled and without putting her cards down, folded her arms, placed them in front of her on the table, and leaned in. “My dare cousin, those are rather dismal eyes after a night of fun.”

Chevalier couldn’t look away from her because she’d have realized she picked up on something of substance, and at the same time, he didn’t know if he can hold in the sudden wave of sorrow that overtook him. Chevalier felt his eyes stinging, forcing him to drop his eyes on the table, and as he grabbled to collect cards scattered on the tabletop, he saw consoling hands landing on his. 

“I can see something is bothering you,” Beatrice whispered, as to not draw too much attention to them. “Tell me. What’s wrong?”

He hesitated for a moment, but the pointless running seemed way too tiring for Chevalier’s bruised heart. “My only chance to be the one familiar face he can trust here got trampled right in front of my eyes.” Chevalier could still sense tears stinging his eyes, but he dared to look up at his cousin. “And you know what's the worst part of it all? That _I_ was the one who paved a path for it to happen.”

The last few words came out more like a silent sob than a cohesive stream of thought, which prompted madame to grab Chevalier’s hands even firmer. 

“Nothing is completely lost until you decide it is.”

Chevalier looked up at his cousin, eyes still glazed with slight dampness. 

“If you let him think it was all your fault, that will be his truth. You have to say yours,” Beatrice finished with a gentle tap on his stacked hands and a quick smile.

Chevalier couldn’t deny that when she’s not annoyingly nosy and cunning, she can be someone whose words can revive your heart even from the eternal death. As he managed a tiny thankful smile, Chevalier withdrew one of his hands that Beatrice still held onto, and placed it on hers. There was a sudden shot of courage that overwhelmed him. As though he had to stand up and declare his love for Philippe, and the only thing that held him from doing so is that Philippe wasn’t there to hear it. Nevertheless, the urge to do so never died down.

Chevalier got up from a comfortable cushiony chair, leaving Beatrice’s comforting hands behind. “Then, there is no point in waiting.”

Beatrice’s face lit up and, without saying a single word, smiled at Chevalier as he was turning away from the table and making his way down the salon. The heals of his boots rang through the corridors as Chevalier made his way to the prince quarters. As he tried to step inside, guards at each side of the entrance crossed their daggers, prohibiting Chevalier to get any closer to his majesty's room. 

“I want to talk to Duke Philippe,” Chevalier said with a stern voice however, the guards were taught to be rocks in a mist of anything. 

“I have arranged a meeting. I need to see him right now.” The last two words came out with a pause in between them, emphasizing the urgency. 

The guards, nevertheless, remained standing with their heels dig in the ground.

It didn't take long for the doors further into the room, crack open, and a tall, poised figure appeared in the doorway. 

“Monsieur, do you need something?” Philippe’s tone was cool to the ear, planting grief inside Chevalier’s heart.

“I wanted to talk to you, monsieur,” Chevalier said it, tasting acid coming up his throat, “if you could spare some of your time.”

Philippe started to walk towards him, letting those few rays of sunshine illuminate his face, revealing the same porcelain visage Chevalier found so alluring. Monsieur’s light blue eyes stared right through Chevalier’s, leaving him to feel the well-known intimidation and fear settling inside him. The one Philippe, Chevalier saw in the gardens, was nowhere to be seen, instead there was something greater than the Atlantic Ocean itself; Chevalier stood in front of something he doubted he’d ever been able to wade through.

“In fact, I do not.” The first wave of cold water hit Chevalier’s face. “Secondly, I think we already talked over everything of importance.” A second wave. “And now, I’d like to excuse myself, I’m late for a meeting.”

Guards, who seconds ago, firmly held their grounds, uncrossed their daggers to let Philippe through. Chevalier remained standing in front of monsieur, eyes still on him, trying to find the same Philippe he felt so connected to. Sadly, there were only frigid remains of a human he once was. 

Chevalier moved to the side, letting Philippe through, and lowering himself for someone he no longer knew. 

§

At Versailles, days went by without notice, blending into each other like a mirage. If you wanted to pass the days in the palace having at least some sense of time, there was nothing better than gossiping. Sitting at the table, playing cards, drinking the best wine from cut-glass glasses, and whisper about the man sitting at the other table, doing the exact same thing; and if you get bored with that, you can try exclusive parties. 

As the night got older and people’s bodies were light from wine, a big part of Versailles' residents were desperate to find something more appealing than another game of cards or a conversation with a glass of wine in hand. Chevalier was one of these bored noblemen, a heartbroken at that.

After that day in the prince's quarters, Chevalier didn’t even dare to consider going near his majesty. However, it doesn’t mean he didn’t hunt him with his eyes everywhere he went and put up with his heart tearing inside his chest every time his face emerged from the crowd. Every time a shadow of Philippe’s face appeared in his periphery, Chevalier’s yearning grew bigger and bigger. Even though his heart broke more than a week ago, Chevalier couldn’t quite let it go, encrusting him with a permanent gloom that he carried with himself wherever he went.

As he aimlessly drifted through corridors, like most days nowadays, a faint sound of giggles and music reached Chevalier’s ears. He was attracted to one of the rooms from which the sounds of bliss and joy could be heard. Chevalier was drawn to the door like a moth towards the light. After all, he’s, in fact, a pathetic moth in monsieur’s eyes. However, monsieur had no idea that he become Chevalier’s light, which he flew too close to, and severely burned his wings. But moths can’t change their makeup. 

Before he could even raise his hand to knock on the door, they flew open by themselves, a group of drunk women, barely covered, ran from the room, filling up the hallway with laughter. Chevalier’s eyes drifted to the high ceiling room, which was filled to the brim with nobles at various stages of intoxication, dancing, drinking, using powders in the corner, or caressing another body while smiling from ear to ear. The air was drench with freedom and sensuality that drew Chevalier in.

Going through the room felt like squeezing through a dense forest, overgrown with trees and bushes. He was stepping through a carpet of people who found themselves giggling on the floor, covered only by a thin layer of linin undershirts. Chevalier began placing his feet in one of the small spaces between people’s bodies, however before he could place it, a couple rolled towards him, leaving no space to step down.

“Pardon!” Chevalier was able to get that out before stepping on the other side of the couple and almost straddling them like a wild horse. The couple seemed to be way too invested in each other to notice Chevalier almost trembling them with his most expensive Parisian boots. 

Somehow he managed to wiggle himself through the clumps of nobles enjoying life. Finally, Chevalier found a free space next to a window, where he leaned on the wall next to it and took out a small glass bottle from an inside pocket of his jacket. Life at Versailles may not have turned out the way it did in his dreams, yet, Chevalier didn’t mind it if there will be enough booze and opium on his hands. As he swung the small bottle, filled with clear liquid, Chevalier noticed a young dark-haired man at the corner of his eye. He stood a couple of meters away from Chevalier, watching him, hiding his interest. Chevalier, however, looked straight into the man’s eyes and a few minutes later, was already making his way towards him. 

Until his gaze drifted from a young nobleman to a man on the other side of the packed room. It didn’t take long for him to recognize France king’s brother, Philippe. Chevalier froze, forgetting not only the man who still looked at him with curiosity but the party itself. All of a sudden, Chevalier stood in an infinite void, where he and Philippe were the only inhabitants. 

It might be the opium or how he actually was, but here he was, making his way through the room, squeezing himself through the smallest spaces between people, towards the man that clearly showed displeasure in being near him. Nevertheless, Chevalier proceeded to go with his intoxicated brain’s plan. 

“Your Majesty,” Chevalier said as he lowered himself for Philippe, “I see you came to the party.”

Philippe’s face twisted with a cold expression, not suggesting anything more than an acknowledgment that Chevalier was in front of him.

“I see, you see well more than cards,” Philippe bit, leaving a harsh sting after itself.

Sober Chevalier would probably resume to his spot next to the window and watch Philippe only from afar, however, the opium was still circulating through his organism. He turned on his heal so that he would stand next to Philippe and snagged a glass of wine that one of many servants were carrying on a tray. 

“I’m afraid that your majesty may have misunderstood me,” Chevalier said and took a long sip from the glass. 

“I don’t understand what you’re talking about, monsieur.” It took everything from Philippe to say anything at all.

“Mostly about that night, more than a week ago, in the garden.” Chevalier turned his gaze to Philippe, trying to study his every muscle’s move. It turned out every royal family member got trained to be as unexpressive as possible. “But, also, about the fiasco at your majesty’s quarters.”

“Oh.” It came out flat and unenthusiastic, almost like Philippe was bored. 

Chevalier waited for another few moments hoping to hear something besides “oh”, yet, monsieur remained silent. He turned to look at the party that was roaring in front of him, but he felt none of it, only a slight fizz of opium that was still in his blood didn’t let Chevalier forget that he was, in fact, at a party. 

“Sometimes I do forget that your majesty is,” Chevalier paused, searching for the right expression, yet, his brain returns to the same two words, “ _your majesty._ I wanted so badly for it to be only words and titles that we give each other, but it became a beast that stood in front of a true human connection that living here.” He demonstrated around them before continuing, “seemed more like a luxury than a daily encounter.”

Philippe turned to the man standing next to him, meeting his eyes, before turning back and letting Chevalier’s words mingle before digesting them.

“You think it’s all because I’m the son of a royal family?” Philippe’s question slashed through the air like a well-sharpened blade, leaving specks of blood on the skin. _Why does it hurt so bad?_

“No.” Chevalier shook his head. “That was me merely expressing my frustration with the circumstances that these misunderstandings were born into.”

Chevalier’s words hit a wall, leaving them unreciprocated, making him realize that he needed to explain himself further.

“The woman that came up to me that night at the gardens was someone I agreed to show around Versailles, but she had created this wrong idea that I was more than attentive,” Chevalier said. “If I’d have had any idea how my accommodative nature would have impacted the course of that day, I’d have not done it.”

Philippe let his look linger on Chevalier for another few moments, and then he turned away, leaving the space between them way too immense for only one of them to reach the other side. And as time went by, it looked more and more impossible to do anything in hopes to reduce the gap. Until Philippe’s voice emerged from a loud noise pool that the room became throughout the night.

“Sometimes I do wish I’d never have born into a royal title,” Philippe said with a hush, almost like his words equaled treason. “Not because I’d hate it but rather because it made me vulnerable. People around me don’t want because they _want_ , but because it’s beneficial to them. That includes feeling. Thus I trained to be quicker than them before they took advantage of me.”

Chevalier remained silent for a while before saying, “I completely understand you,” he turned to Philippe and got surprised when he was met with a pair of sky-blue eyes. “Nevertheless, sometimes we have to trust that some people simply want because they want and feel because it’s what their hearts say they feel.”

A glimpse of something warm ran over Philippe’s face, letting a slight smile carve into his face, making Chevalier smile back. The all-penetrating sound of the room that thundered with joy, was now muted, as though they both would have been enclosed in a glass bottle. Even if they heard a hum somewhere in the background, it faded with every breath they took. Perhaps it was a silly thought, but Chevalier could have sworn he saw a glimmer of relief in Philippe’s eyes. 

“Ladies and gentlemen!” A still silent but much clearer voice exclaimed, drawing Philippe’s and Chevalier’s eyes from each other to a man standing on the wooden table at the center of the room. “I’d like to invite all of you to the gardens and celebrate today as our ancestries would.”

Doors behind his back swung open, and streams of intoxicated men and women spilled into the hallway. Before leaving, Philippe and Chevalier looked at each other and laughed, realizing the foolishness of the moment but proceeding with it anyway. Maybe that was the point. Being with someone who understood the stakes of the situation and yet doing it with you because what’s the point of acting any other way if it meant not experiencing everything with you. 

As they ran after the crowd and finally broke out of the palace into the gardens, a crisp gush of autumn air hit their faces, taking the last breath out of their lungs. People started to undress amidst going down the stairs to the fountains in front of the palace. One by one, they stepped into the water, which was lead by shouting and giggling. In an instant, nobles became nothing more than a bunch of kids, playing in the water, laughing, and forgetting the world surrounding them. Even if that feeling was going to last for no more than a split second, Philippe craved to feel it too.

“Well,” Philippe said with a smirk as he was slipping out of his gold and dark blue jacket. “Are you coming?”

Chevalier returned a smile and, without much thought, replayed with a simple “Yes”.

The water was ice-cold, but it felt refreshing against their scolding hot skin. Every time a splash would hit either of their faces, they would chuckle, take some of the water in their hands, and throw back at another. People’s laughter occupied the gardens, among which, Philippe’s was heard the clearest. Chevalier splashed another palm-full and watched it shower Philippe. A smile spread across the man's face, his undershirt drenched, yet, no visible complaint to be seen. Chevalier doubts he has ever seen Philippe so at ease. It’s silly how much Chevalier wished to see him in this state every day until his death. 


	4. Life may be mine but not mine to have

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I just wanted to thank you for leaving kudos and such nice and encouraging comments on the last chapter. Your words mean a lot to me, especially when I get discouraged. Even though this chapter took a while, hopefully, it won't disappoint you. Have a nice day everyone!

Warmth tickled Chevalier’s cheek forcing him to open his eyes as the Sun was already way above the horizon, sending multiple rays of sunshine through the window into the room that looked way too spacious for Chevalier’s humble suite. The ceiling was sparkling with gilded ornaments, in which there were chiseled flowers and leaves, filling the space with a warm tone of yellow. The lower half of the walls were embellished with marble trimmings, while above them, a thick red wallpaper covered the rest of the walls. 

Sheets ruffled next to Chevalier, and he felt someone’s arm glazing over his, before settling next to his side. He glanced with his still fuzzy from sleep eyes, only noticing a head full of dark, meticulously curled hair and a naked leg exposed from under the sheet. The man’s hand between them moved again while the curly head turned to Chevalier. 

Chevalier made out a well-examined face. Philippe’s face was still encrusted with a thick layer of sleep, his eyes shut, lips relaxed and pouty, asking to be kissed. Only them did Chevalier realized what this implied. His body got hot, each thought raised quicker than the other. Chevalier stared at Philippe laying nearby, exploring every bit of his face, searching for a hint that this was, in fact, a dream. 

Philippe’s eyelashes fluttered before fully opening, revealing the full ocean that the eyelids were hiding all this time. Chevalier waited for him to say to get out, but the room remained quiet; the moment almost felt intimate. Philippe’s eyes found Chevalier’s, and a small smile landed on his face, filling Chevalier’s heart with moths, flapping their wings, jolting wave after wave of tender adoration going through his body. 

“Good morning,” Philippe finally said, making Chevalier’s heart grow bigger, almost hurting because of it. There was a sudden need to clench his fist around his heart to stop it from ripping through his ribs. “Is everything all right?” Philippe’s voice had a slight tint of fear in it.

Chevalier’s lips lifted upwards. “Yes. I just…” He shook his head almost unnoticed and smiled even wider, “I just realized that every day that I do not touch you, taste you, feel you, will be the day of death and mourning.” 

It took a moment for Philippe to grasp on Chevalier’s words. They settled on the surface of his skin, on the edges of the gold-covered trimmings, intertwined between the sheets, lingered like a sweet aroma that always found its way to Philippe. No one before said such things, leaving most for interpretation, or worse, a guess, that their feeling was as deep as his own. Now, when he was given the reason to believe, Philippe had to process it like digesting a filling meal, slowly enjoying every bite. 

Their intimate moment was suddenly interrupted by the knock on the door. Philippe followed the sound and called out.

“Come in!” 

The doors opened, and a well-known figure emerged from the corridor and bowed. “Excuse me for this unannounced visit, monsieur,” king's vale, Bontemps said, still not batting an eye to a man next to Philippe, “Your Highness is expecting to see you before today’s ball for his highness fitting.”

“You can tell him I’ll be present.” Philippe nodded, giving permission for Bontemps to leave his suite. 

As soon as the man left, they were left alone once again. Chevalier turned to face Philippe, his expression hesitant. “Today’s ball?”

“Have you forgotten?” Philippe sat up in the bed, letting the sheet slide down his body, revealing detail after detail of his slim body. “The ball of the year in Versailles, when we all pretend to celebrate my brother’s ruling?”

“Ah,” Chevalier exclaimed dryly, “How could anyone forget?”

Philippe remained silent, sitting upright, his nakedness covered only by a thin layer of linin, and his eyes affixed to an uninteresting spot on the floor, even though Philippe tried to relieve the tension. He felt stupid thinking that a sarcastic tone of his voice could somehow alleviate Philippe’s and Louis’ brotherhood clash. Chevalier had a brother and knew the intricate details of such a relationship, but his knowledge ended with an idea of what it meant to be a brother of a king. 

Chevalier propped himself with his hands from the mattress and carefully, scared to startle Philippe way too immersed in his ruminations about his brother, started to crawl towards the troubled man. He extended his arm and moved Philippe’s curls on the other shoulder and put his chin on the free one. Philippe didn’t seem to feel Chevalier’s efforts; his eyes still fixated on the same spot on the floor, brows knotted, his bottom lip in between his teeth, being gnawed at till its raw. 

Chevalier turned his head so that his lips would lightly press on Philippe’s cheek and whispered only for him to hear, “Then, let’s celebrate you. Your brother may be the Sun, but the ball is at night, and it's ruled by stars. Let’s show how brightly you can shine.”

Philippe faced Chevalier, who was still close to his face, breathing hot air that condensate on his cheek every time it landed on his skin. No one before made him feel like he was worthy of his brother, better yet, more than him. Chevalier’s eyes flickered in surprise when Philippe’s lips pressed against his with force, leaving them scorching hot. After the initial shock, he let his eyelids fall, giving into Philippe’s gradually depending kiss, reminding him of the same hunger he felt last night. 

§

Chevalier stood behind Philippe’s back, watching their both reflection gawking back at them. Philippe looked stunning. His gold and white jacket hung on his broad shoulders as though it was a part of him, a white crocheted neckpiece under his jaw looked like a blossoming flower, and his dark curls cascaded down his shoulders and back. Philippe was like a manifestation of a painting, without a single flaw that left you to do nothing else but admire. 

“How do I look?” Philippe asked as he examined his reflection in the mirror, smoothing out non-existent wrinkles on his jacket. 

“Handsome,” Chevalier managed.

However, Philippe seemed to not be convinced because he remained to check out himself in the mirror as though he was taking notes in his head about every single detail that wasn’t _just right._

He tilted his head, investigating himself. “Do I?” Philippe’s head changed the slant to the right.

Chevalier found it silly that a man like him would question his unquestionable beauty with such simplicity. He stepped closer to him and wrapped his hands around monsieur’s waist, lowering his chin on his shoulder. 

“Of course.” Philippe’s seemed unfazed, lips still stretched into a thin line, and eyes considering every detail of himself. “Only those who will stand next to you today should question their beauty because you’re making even the stars appear dull compared to you.”

Philippe once again flipped his head to the other side. “And to the Sun?”

Chevalier knew exactly what hid behind those words, so he held Philippe even closer to him, scared to let him go before he could catch him. 

“And to the Sun,” Chevalier whispered with certainty, making Philippe look at Chevalier's reflection for the first time and not his, dissecting his own reflection in the mirror. “The Sun may shine bright, but it’s only one of it, and you, you, my dare, are a collection of billions of pieces, scattered around the galaxy, giving light to more than one.”

And here it was, a single smile spread across Philippe’s face, no longer pondering at his reflection, but watching Chevalier still pressed against his back, chin resting on his shoulder. The smile widened even more, and Chevalier could only think how wonderful it would be to make him smile with this enthusiasm like this more often. 

A knock echoed through the spacious room, making Philippe’s smile drop, and eyebrows furrow. 

“What is it?” Harsh tone scolded Chevalier’s skin, although his remark wasn’t directed at him, making him unravel his arms and step back from monsieur.

“Excuse me, your majesty, for disturbing you again,” a muffled Bontemps voice came from behind the wooden doors. “But his highness has an urgent meeting to attend thus he asked me to let you know he won’t be able to be for the fitting today. However, he still hopes to see you at the ball.”

Philippe’s already porcelain white face got whiter, emphasizing his square jaw under that skin. Chevalier noticed how it clenched, making muscles under the stretched out skin seem even more prominent than before. His fists were resting by his sides, searching for something more to grab than air. Chevalier tapped monsieur’s forearm with caution, and after gaining his attention, Chevalier gave Philippe a nod and a smile, hoping he’d understand his fain gesture. 

Muscles under Philippe’s porcelain skin relaxed as well as his fists came undone after Chevalier suggested a shy smile. Still looking at him, Philippe said, “You can tell my brother I’ll meet him at the ball tonight.”

“I will, your majesty.” You can almost hear a bow in the Louis' valet’s voice that came through a thick wood. “Excuse me for interrupting your peace.”

The sound of the heels of his boots recedes when finally reducing to silence. 

“As much as they apologize, I never believe them.” Philippe’s words laid heavily on top of the dense air that was circulating in the room. 

Philippe turned to the mirror, and Chevalier could only follow him with his eyes, seeing the heaviness of the air pressing onto him and continuing sinking deeper and deeper into the ground. Monsieur’s eyes crept up and down his reflection, straightening out his jacket, going over the same spot a couple of times. 

Philippe turned on his heels and said with his head held up, “Good thing I’m no longer that small compared to my brother.”

Chevalier’s lips curved upwards higher and higher, his cheeks pushing onto his bottom eyelids, covering a bigger part of his vision. He started to walk towards his monsieur, a pray he found so appealing right this second. As their faces almost made contact and they could feel each other’s hot breaths on their faces, Chevalier grabbed Philippe’s waist and muttered below his nose. 

“Good thing you never needed an apology to know who’s the bigger one.” 

Philippe’s sky blue eyes went through Chevalier like a hot knife blade, slicing through multiple layers of desire that coated him at this exact moment. A sudden hit of Philippe’s lips to his coughed Chevalier off guard, shaking his insides with full velocity, rippling through every part of him. His eyes were still open from the unexpected shake of his internal organs, as he gaped at Philippe, who was devouring his lips, teasing, while flicking his tongue across his raw lips. Chevalier finally relaxed into the passion of Philippe’s kiss, dropping eyelids close, letting in Philippe's tongue, which intertwined with his, leaving hot licks atop Chevalier’s. They pulled away just for a second to breathe in, before sliding their tongues back into each other’s mouths, tasting their saliva, feeling it wrap around their teeth. Philippe let a moan into Chevalier’s mouth, sending high current through his body and waking up the hunger that hasn’t been awoken for a very long time. 

Chevalier gripped Philippe’s waste even with a greater force and spun him around, as they waddled to the edge of the still unmade bed. It only took a brief moment when they pealed their lips from each other for Chevalier to push Philippe on the bed, leaving him lay on his back. Monsieur's mouth formed a surprise “o”, but it changed into a hunger smirk in an instant, leaving Chevalier hot all over. His dick was now painfully hard, begging for him to release it from his breeches. Philippe licked his top lip, now devouring Chevalier only with his eyes. It was the last straw. Chevalier grappled with the few small buttons of his breeches that there were, leaving him desperate to the point of only undoing two buttons, before crawling on top of Philippe, who was already mouth open, ready for his tongue to enter it. 

Chevalier could feel Philippe’s hands moving in a not such calculated manner like usual, fiercely removing Chevalier’s clothes one by one, leaving burning spots all over his back and arms. While he was being undressed, Chevalier did the same for Philippe, his hand movements looking clumsy and all over the place, not finishing to remove one clothing item before moving to the next. It was all moving so fast that he didn’t notice when they were naked, Chevalier on top of Philippe, leaving sloppy pecks down his chest to his groin. It all was chaos, but it all made so much sense. 

§ 

The night was approaching fast and with certainty, making palace personnel frantically run around, placing few last touches before the great ball. Every year the bar gets higher and higher, resulting in stressed-out party organizer and overworked staff, yet, Louis goes on with his usual routine for the day, giving almost no attention to the chaos around him; it’s almost like it doesn’t exist to him. 

This year’s ball preparation seems to go a bit differently. Although Philippe saw his brother only once of the morning of the great celebration, lead by at least three servants, guards, and his vale, Bontemps, he noticed Louis' face sopped with concern. His constant look over his shoulder, a whisper to Bontemps or remark to one of the workers, made it clear for Philippe, that somehow this year's ball was important to his brother. After the brief encounter of Louis, Philippe never saw him again up until the party gained some momentum.

When the night finally engulfed the outside world, Versailles was only beginning to light up. People spilled from their suites to main rooms of the palace, filling it with chatter, dances, and intrigues. It never stopped to impress Philippe how many unimportant and pointless conversations there were created between these walls. He was quick to bypass any possible interaction with a noble, ready to tell about his apparent strengths suited for the courtier and gossip about his rivals however, some are impossible to run away from.

“Your majesty, Philippe.” A confident voice addressed him as he was taking a glass of wine from the tray, which was held by an attractive servant. “It’s such a pleasure to finally meeting you.”

Philippe spun around to look at the person who was talking with him. A well-dressed man stood in front of him, his chin and upper lip overgrown with dark but tidy hair, long hair draping down his shoulders, eyes sharp and focused on him. Only then did it dawned on him that a man that was standing right in front of him was none other than Charles I, the king of England. 

Philippe remained unfazed, knowing well what it could cost if he looked uncertain in any way. “Your highness! I think _I_ should say that.”

A quick smile appeared from under the king's mustache. “Your brother told me you’re humorous and have a sharp tongue, but didn’t expect such wittiness.”

“I have a sharp mind too,” Philippe shot up, hiding the slight annoyance at Louis, “but I guess, brothers don’t say that about their siblings.” He pushed out a smile.

Charles, on the other hand, smiled with fascination, still facing Philippe, not considering leaving him at peace with his glass of wine. “You would be an amazing negotiator." He turned to a young woman who was standing by his side all this time. "Don’t you think, dear?” 

Her light brown hair was put into an intricate updo, embellished with sparkly gems and gold. Her green eyes were modestly looking at Philippe, lips barely showing any sign of a smile. 

“You really would.” She said it so quite that Philippe almost didn't hear her.

“From a woman like you, I will trust your words.” Philippe smiled and then turned to Charles to do the same. 

“We actually came to discuss some-“ Charles voice melted into the background as Philippe’s gaze wondered behind the king’s shoulder, where he saw a well-known face of Chevalier. 

Philippe watched as he stood in a small circle of nobles, holding a glass of wine, and laughing every so often. Philippe rarely gets astonished by people, rather they all remind him why he despises them with such passion however, it’s so much different with Chevalier; no other people seem to exist, only them, enjoying life as it is. He saw Chevalier flip his curls behind his back, revealing his chiseled side profile. Perfection belonged to the gods, but at this moment, he doubted that was true. Chevalier’s forehead fluently merged with his straight nose bridge, and then gradually curving to create his plump lips. For a split second, Philippe thought he was looking at a painting.

He was finally able to redirect his eyes to king Charles, who was still talking. 

“Excuse me, your highness," Philippe interrupted him, "I wish to discuss these pressing matters with you however, I’ll have to excuse myself for now.” Philippe peeked at Chevalier for a split second, who was still chatting with the same few people. “I hope your evening will be memorable.”

Philippe offered a quick smile and made his way towards the godly painting he was admiring from afar. 

He stopped next to Chevalier, as it looked, in the middle of telling one of the many stories he told today. Everyone’s eyes started to dart to Philippe, finally making Chevalier turn his own eyes to a man standing beside him. 

Chevalier’s eyes sparkled, and a smile that previously barely showed his teeth now was exposing them only for him. Philippe wondered if everyone else saw the beauty that this man possessed. 

“Your majesty,” Chevalier smirked and then bowed, showing an example for others, who seemed to have forgotten the right manners. “What brings you here to our circle?”

“Was looking for someplace to hang out that doesn’t include a discussion about the next step to my brother’s bed or financial scheme someone is pioneering.” Everyone laughed, while Chevalier left looking at Philippe, smirking.

“Well, my majesty, you came to the right circle,” Chevalier said, not letting Philippe drop his smile. 

§

The yearly ball, which had the purpose of facilitating an environment for Louis to brag about his so-called accomplishments as a king of France, was in full swing. Rooms were stuffed with nobles, drinking copious amounts of alcohol, dancing, and gossiping, everything that they did best. Those who didn’t found free space in the palace were welcomed on the front lawn, where the king and queen were enjoying the acrobats' show.

Only Philippe and Chevalier were no near that chaos. As the night got older, they left the party behind and made their way to the gardens. The only good thing about these balls was that the gardens were empty like no other day, leaving plenty of space for a calm walk down the lanes of orange trees that in spring spread a divine smell and in autumn, only left a reminder of the sweet aroma that once circulated through these trees. And even though the gardens weren't as lush as they were in spring, Philippe and Chevalier found that there was no need for that, as the presence of each other was plenty for them. For the first time, they had a chance to be together in public, all alone. 

For the most part, they were silent, only saying a couple of words here and there, enjoying a moment alone in each other's company. Every so often, distant murmurs and laughter come from the palace, filling the gaps between their steps and occasional words. 

Tonight the sky was clear, a full moon was hanging above their heads, and the rest of the sky was covered in various sized specks, which twinkled, catching both of their attention. 

Chevalier spectated the night sky for a while, before asking, “Do you ever think what it would have been like living a different life?”

“Different?” 

“Yes,” Chevalier tear his eyes from an intricate star composition. “A life you dream of living in your sleep or at a dinner table when everything gets too overwhelming. Do you ever think about living a life like that?”

Philippe takes some time to think, directing his gaze to the sky, trying to find the answer among the mysterious bodies of light hung above his head, where Chevalier discovered his question. 

“It’s never so different that I could daydream about. Nevertheless, at times I do think what it would be to live a life you have all rights to.” Philippe turned to face Chevalier, who was already looking at him, dissecting his expressions, which there were few. “Not being reminded of my, so said, duties, not being only a chest piece in their game of state," Philippe paused, "being able to choose my own destiny.”

Chevalier let Philippe’s words linger in a chilly autumn air for a few more moments, before asking, “What is your destiny?”

Philippe noticed something similar to hope sparkle in the depths of Chevalier's eyes. “I don’t know,” Philippe admitted. “When your life has been monitored from the day you've been born, eventually you lose your ability to live it by yourself. Being presented with an idea of being a creator of your life, paralyzes you.” 

When Philippe turned to face Chevalier again, he noticed him walking beside him, staring at his feet, not saying a single word.

For a split second, the silence settled and left the sound of crunching gravel beneath their feet and distant sounds of the great ball to rule them. Philippe knew he wasn’t completely right, feeling the background sounds dig deep inside him, unpleasantly pressing on his heart. 

“Good thing I’m not alone,” Philippe said, interrupting the noises around him.

Chevalier remained walking when finally stopping in his tracks, making Philippe stop too. When he turned to Philippe, he noticed the same deep eyes, however now they were covered with a thick layer of grey cloud.

“And you think they will help you figure out your destiny?” Chevalier’s voice sounded sharp to the touch, as though it could slash through the skin like paper, leaving you bleed.

“No,” Philippe said and then added, “they are a part of my destiny.” 

His words remained in the crisp air, while Chevalier tried to digest them one by one, with every single one leaving a brighter and wider smile than the previous one. Philippe smiled when he noticed something sparkle inside Chevalier’s eyes, and soon after, saw him stepping towards him, closing the gap between them with every second until eventually, their noses were touching. Chevalier looked into Philippe’s bright eyes before closing them and leaning forward. Their lips collided, leaving them to feel only flutters of both of their lips on theirs. The sensation trickled down their bodies, leaving small ghostly kisses down their spines, making them both smile into the kiss. Philippe let out a quiet giggle that passed through Chevalier, making him smile even wider. The kiss had merely the amount of force that their other ones had, yet, somehow, this kiss was so much more intimate than the ones they shared naked in bed. 

§

Philippe and Chevalier came right at the right time, when the show at Versailles’ lawn ended, leaving king and queen seated at their seats, exchanging a few casual words with a couple of nobles that were there to take in a spectacle that was acrobats’ performance. 

Philippe walked towards his brother with confidence, his lover next to him. 

“Brother!” He exclaimed while still showing his teeth. “And I thought you’ll never come out to experience this amazing ball.”

“How could I, brother!” Philippe's words came out way too full of sarcasm for his liking, but it seemed to go over his majesty’s head. 

“And how do you like it?” A proud smile spread across Louis' face, forcing Philippe to hold in a laugh. 

Philippe looked around the lawn that there were still some people left mingling around the king’s presence, hoping to be noticed at least once. 

“It’s wonderful,” Philippe mocked, but not making it too obvious. “The only thing that’s missing is some great announcement.”

Louis laughed, and Philippe tried to force out a smile, but most likely looked ridiculous from the side. 

“Then, I organized the most perfect yearly ball to date.” Louis’ smile got wider, eyes full of pride. 

Philippe admittedly got surprised that this party was more than his brother, bragging about his outstanding ruling. “What’s the big announcement then? Declaring a war against Spain once again?”

“Oh, I think I forgot to mention it to you,” Louis said while his eyes were locked on Philippe, “we found you a perfect bride. You’re getting married.”

The feeling of sinking didn’t compare to the one Philippe was feeling right now. Rather, it felt like he was thrown in a quicksand pit, helplessly struggling to move his legs, or arms, or his body at that; it left him paralyzed. He knew that opposing their decision will only make the quicksand swallow him faster, suffocating Philippe. Thus he decided to remain still, letting the surrounding sand gobble up only a part of him. 


	5. Betrayal tastes like poison

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's Philippe d'Orleans' birthday! Woho! I figured it would be a crime not to post a new chapter on a day like this.  
> Sorry for the long wait, life started to kick my ass, giving me less and less time to write. Hopefully, you'll enjoy today's chapter. Hope everyone is staying safe and healthy!
> 
> By the way, I created twitter @delarusss. If you want to message me or see how I'm losing my mind every time writing a new chapter, now you can do it on twitter!

A jarring sound of glass to metal traveled through the great hall, forcing Philippe to squeeze his eyes shut and wrinkle his nose bridge. 

“I’m extremely thankful to see you all here celebrating France and its glory,” Louis started. Philippe itched to whisper back - _your glory_ \- but he digressed. “Centuries have passed from the first man on these lands, giving a beginning to something bigger than him and passing it from one generation to the other.” He paused as he overlooked the rest of the nobles sitting at the table. “Now we’re here. Now we’re the next generation, obliged to make today’s France tomorrow’s one. I’m so honored to be the one leading our country to a great tomorrow.” 

Everyone applauds, leaving a bitter taste in Philippe’s mouth. 

His brother’s frame loomed over him as an unmovable mountain. He firmly held a glass of wine, as a proud smile spread across his face. Philippe saw how Louis’ eyes glanced over every face at the table, with each, they filled with more and more lightening, which almost lit him on fire when eventually, his eyes settled on Philippe. Louis’ gaze lingered on his brother for a while when finally, he continued his speech, still watching him from above, all-seeing god, playing his match of chess.

“And brighter tomorrows will be achievable only with friends.” Louis turned away from Philippe and landed his eyes on someone sitting a couple of seats away from Philippe. 

As he turned his own gaze to the spot his brother looked so intensely to, his heart went silent for a split second, settling between his ribs. “Let’s all thank our new friend England and his leader king Charles the I, who will forever be a part of our history as my brother Philippe the I and Henrietta of England, a daughter of the great king, will lock their destinies together, bringing our great countries together.” Louis stretched out a hand that held a glass of wine towards the king of England, Charles. “Thank you for becoming a part of France’s future.”

Charles lifted one of the corners of his lips and took a wine glass from the table, which stood in front of him, and did the same gesture as Louis. After they locked their eyes, both of their gazes dropped to the red wine that swayed inside the glasses, before taking them to their lips and swallowing a gulp of the liquid. Everyone in the room chaired, taking their glasses from the table and taking a celebratory sip. 

Instead of Philippe. 

He stayed paralyzed, looking at the man he talked to, a few hours earlier, not thinking much of it. Now, a smirk played on Charles’ lips through a thick layer of glass, making it seem jagged, sending alarms through Philippe’s body. The young woman, who sat beside him, who he barely noticed last time standing next to his father, now was his future wife, someone with whom he’ll have to provide a herd. This couldn’t actually be happening. Something vibrated from his toes to the crown of his head, leaving Philippe mouth dry. 

A nudge to his shoulder awoke Philippe, forcing him to ignore the current that was shooting through every single cell in his body and look up at his brother, who by the time he managed to do so, already was gesturing to Philippe’s glass that still was standing on the table. Philippe tore his gaze from Louis and redirected it to a glass of wine, and saw nothing else but a seal to his life. There was no red wax, a fancy stamp, or an agreement on paper with his signature (he was sure his brother did it for him), only a glass of wine, his brother’s words, and Philippe’s raise of the glass that sealed the deal. However, not raising it meant disloyalty. Philippe’s life is dedicated to the state, and with that came many privileges, but duties too. One of them was marrying and having children, thus Philippe reached out for the glass on the table and lifted it to Charles and his daughter, sealing his life away for France’s welfare. 

As Philippe took a hefty gulp into his mouth, at first he felt the liquid burn his mouth, making him leave it there, letting the burn spread through his mouth, then swallowing. It traveled down his esophagus into Philippe’s stomach, where it settled at the bottom, mixing with stomach acid and dread. 

Philippe’s eyes traveled through people’s faces and locked them to a well know one sitting at least ten seats from him. Besides him, two women, who he guessed was his cousin and her daughter, seem to whisper with each other, as Chevalier is watching right back at him. Philippe’s heart trembles when he sees a familiar agonizing look sparkling inside his eyes. It slashed open an ocean between them two and filling it up with the dense realization of reality. Even though they both remained seated at the same spot, for some reason, the space between them grew with every moment.

“Let’s celebrate it!” Louis exclaimed, this way commanding for the music to start playing, and nobles to get up from their seats. 

Philippe followed Chevalier with his eyes. How he chugged the last few gulps of wine all at once; how he fiercely put the glass down; how he pushed himself from the table, stood up, and started to maneuver through the crowd out of the hall. Philippe stood up in an instant, feeling his blood rush to his brain, making him dizzy. 

As he was about to disappear among the hundreds of nobles, clogging up the room, he felt someone’s hand painfully grip his arm. Only when he spun around, he saw his brother’s dark face emerge from the stuffy hall. 

“Where are you going? We have to discuss your marriage.” Philippe looked back, searching for Chevalier through the many nobles that were still shuffling around the table. “Now!” 

Louis’ tone went through him like a spare, turning him into a loyal dog, obeying his brother’s every single order. Philippe let his body slag and turn back at Louis, whose hand was still firmly wrapped around his forearm. When he showed his full obedience, Louis let him go and smiled more to himself than to Philippe. 

Louis leaned in and whispered in Philippe’s ear, “follow me.” 

He turned away and started to wiggle his way through the dense crowd, leading Philippe from the hall, to a meeting room that he usually uses to meet up with court members. 

Philippe never paid attention to how this room’s walls collapsed on each other, pushing all the air from one’s lungs. King Charles’ was already waiting, sitting with his fingers interlocked, resting them on the table. His daughter Henrietta standing by his side. When the doors closed behind them, Philippe felt how his stomach clench and lungs collapse in his chest, leaving him almost gasping for air. He didn’t know that by sealing his life away, meant taking it away too.

“King Charles,” Louis started, as he made his way to the table. “I think you have already met my brother, Philippe,” he turned to his Philippe, who stood behind him, hiding his inability to breathe. 

“Ah, yes!” King Charles' lips curved upwards. “We did exchange some words, but his majesty had some more important business to attend when we started to discuss our countries' partnership.”

His words bit to the bone, sending signals through every single nerve, even those that were deep in his bones. Louis doesn’t turn to look at Philippe, but Philippe can feel the burning sensation going right through him, making him too aware of how he stands and breaths. 

“It’s a good thing we still have time to discuss those burning matters right now,” Louis said and slid a leather-covered binder closer to him. “Let’s start from the beginning, shall we?” He flipped it open, revealing a document of multiple commitments for both parties, under which Charles and Louis' signatures confirmed them, that neither he nor Henrietta saw before. 

Philippe stood there, feeling the walls around him closing onto him, taking every breath, like it was his last. He felt his life being taken away from him with every single second, and he knew that once everything is done, Philippe will breathe only for France. 

He heard his brother negotiating Philippe’s life away, but as a loyal dog should, he remained standing behind Louis, not protesting against anything they told his life will look like after. Or rather, he didn’t say a word, because he didn't try to hear what they said. The best part of his brain was dedicated to normalizing his breathing, and the other part was contemplating where Chevalier went, what is he thinking, how he’ll find him after. Perhaps, that wasn’t the smartest way to use up his brain. 

“Do you agree with that, Philippe?” Louis' voice brought him back to the suffocating room, making him realize he had no idea what he should or shouldn’t agree with. 

Knowing the consequences of asking to repeat the question or agreeing to the wrong thing, Philippe impersonated a man in consideration, while trying to remember the tone of his brother. He has been around him for long enough to know the slight intonation differences in his voice, to know how he feels, what his intentions are, and what he wants. By the confident accentuations of the words and his calm manner, Philippe knew what to say in an instant. 

“Yes, I agree with that as well.” 

Philippe’s choice was right because he saw how Louis’ back straightens even more. While, king Charles face encrusts in a thick layer of displeasure, leaving the room feel even more suffocating, while at the same time, freezing Philippe to the core. 

“Then it’s decided.” Philippe was right; you could hear a secret satisfactory smile in Louis' voice. “The wedding is tomorrow.”

Philippe’s icicle core started to crackle under the sudden pressure that landed on his shoulders. _Tomorrow._ So that’s what he agreed to. To be married to a woman he barely knows, that he only saw once before, _tomorrow_. The realization of his situation sent multiple waves of hot and cold air, that made his blood boil and freezing right after, making Philippe numb to the reality. He wanted to scream at his brother and say how unfair everything was, but deep down Philippe knew that his life didn’t suppose to be fear, he merely was a moveable chess piece on the board. 

§ 

His boots hammered on the marble flooring, echoing through the corridors, making a few heads turn as Philippe made his way through the palace. His heart was on fire, the frozen core melted as soon as he stepped from the meeting room, with only one thought in his head: _I need to find him._ However, there was no luck. Stuffed corridors and rooms were seen in every direction, but no sign of the one face that mattered. It was beginning to eat Philippe from the inside, until the worm that gnawed at him till now disappeared, only leaving a small hole behind. 

Chevalier stood at the back of only one of the many crowded rooms in Versailles, chatting with the same two women that Philippe recognized from the dinner at the beginning of the evening. Philippe began to squeeze through the people, making his way towards Chevalier, feeling the heat flowing over his head non-stop. 

When he was only a few steps from where Chevalier stood and talked with those two women, a third one came from, what it seemed, nowhere, hooking her arm on Chevalier's. If at first Philippe’s body was pulsating with heat, now it was struggling to produce any amount of warmth. All of a sudden, it got cool to the touch, making Philippe stop in his tracks in the middle of the room for long enough for the whole situation to unfold right in front of his eyes. 

The woman that hung by Chevalier’s side leaned even closer to him, her head turned to him, waiting for him to take another step. It only takes another few moments for Chevalier to turn to her and meet her eyes. 

“Your majesty!” Someone exclaims, now drawing everyone’s attention to Philippe. 

As everyone around him is bowing, Philippe still has his eyes on Chevalier, who turns around to show his respect and doesn’t stand straight up until Philippe steps right in front of him. 

“Your majesty,” a small voice came from a young woman that only moments ago, was leaning against Chevalier, asking for his attention. “Congratulations on your engagement. It will be such a beautiful celebration for you and France.” 

Her sweet voice and sweeter smile grind Philippe’s gears nevertheless, he remained unfazed, suggesting only a hint of a smile, and almost unnoticeable nod. “Thank you.”

When Philippe’s eyes redirected to Chevalier, he was looking somewhere behind his shoulder, making no eye contact. 

“I wish to talk with you, monsieur.” The title landed heavily on his tongue, entangling it in a mucous, bitter-tasting substance. 

Chevalier finally turned his gaze to him however, cool air flew right into Philippe’s face. “As you wish, my majesty.”

Three women that were standing next to Chevalier bowed down once again, and Philippe began to lead Chevalier through the crowd to get out of the room as fast as possible. The pressure, coming from Chevalier, behind his back, made the time go even slower, as if it was granules of sand, wedging through the smallest hole of the sand-clock. Philippe could feel a boiling hot shout climbing up his throat to make everyone move out of his way, but thankfully, it remained there as he finally escaped the stuffy room.

Even though the hallways were overcrowded with people too, it still made Philippe breathe a little bit more freely. 

“What’s the urgent matter you so wanted to talk about?” Chevalier’s voice remained cool to the ear, yet, Philippe could have sworn he heard a hint of hope mixed in between his words.

“Not here,” Philippe whispered as he glanced back at Chevalier, to make sure he wasn’t imagining the hints of hopeful tone in his voice. “Let’s go outside.” He wasn’t. There was a faint sparkle dancing inside Chevalier’s pupils. 

The air outside was smelling like a crisp reminder that it was in the middle of October. Philippe wished to have something warmer covering his shoulders as gusts of air brought cold autumn and its good companion moisture, that trickled down their clothes, making their skin a little bit cold and damp. 

As Philippe hoped, the front palace lawn was almost completely empty, leaving them both enjoy the peaceful getaway from the chaos of the ball. It felt sinful to disturb the calm atmosphere that settled around them, but Philippe knew that there will never be a _good_ chance to say it.

“I’m getting married tomorrow.”

The silence continued however, it was a different breed of silence. Tiny droplets of water that the autumn air brought, crystalized in the air and started to slash their skins open, while the blood was erupting from the cuts, tinting the grass beneath their feet. This lasted for another while, making the air smell rancid, and their mouths fill up with a taste of metal. It laid heavily atop of them, forcing them to be locked to the same spot on the ground. 

“So fast?” It was the only thing that Chevalier managed to say.

“My brother insisted.” It was hard to admit that Philippe was doing it all for his brother, yet, somehow, he remained calm doing so because he knew Chevalier will understand him.

“Do you want to get married?” 

“No,” Philippe said it with irrefutable certainty.

“You’re doing this for France, then?” 

“Yes.” A quite disappointment could have been heard in Philippe’s voice.

“Then, we’re going to figure it out.” Philippe turned to look back at Chevalier, who looked at him with eyes that sparkled with a couple more hopeful glimmers. “Philippe the I, the duke of Orleans is a different person from Philippe, I know.” Chevalier started to reduce the distance between them while he continued to talk. “One has to play a game of state, and the other is trying to create his own destiny. I recognize the distinction between both of your sides and I’m willing to live with both of them.” 

Chevalier stood in front of Philippe, making it impossible not to be seduced by his breathtaking beauty. Philippe took a good look inside Chevalier’s green eyes, before leaning in and kissing him hard. 

Suddenly, the marriage didn’t seem to be so devastating. 

§

The ball night was coming to a close, most nobles already passed out from the huge amount of alcohol they consumed, and the other part was swishing the last few mouthfuls of wine, before going back to their suites. This time at any party was the best. Making your way to your room, slightly tipsy, feeling strange bliss overtaking you. At this time, no worries seem to bother you, because it’s all glazed over with a couple of wine glasses, and opium if you’re lucky. Even though Philippe hasn’t consumed much tonight, he still felt the slight buzzing delight that was the end of another party. 

As he was walking down the hallway, his boot heals making a crisp sound on the marble floor, he remembered Henrietta’s last words that she said before he disappeared into the depths of the chaos: _Give me a visit after the ball._ Philippe didn’t need much time to figure out the real meaning behind Henrietta’s invitation nevertheless, he figured that at least he has to try to be somewhat friendly with his soon to be wife. 

Her suite was at the other part of the palace, so it took enough time to get there for the rest of the party to fully die down, leaving Versailles silent like no other time. 

Philippe wasn’t completely sure which room was Henrietta’s, but he figured he’ll somehow find it. She was a princess, thus guards should be keeping her safe even in her sleep. So, Philippe searched for any indication of guards standing in front of one of the doors however, there was no one else in the corridor beside him. It left to go blindly and hope he’ll hear her voice through one of the thick wooden doors, or better yet, see her going through one of them.

Philippe was slowly making through the hallway, trying to create as little sound as possible, so he could hear even the faintest movement behind these doors. He was already losing hope to find her suite when Philippe’s ears picked up a muffled conversation behind one of the last doors at the end of the hallway. He stopped in his tracks and moved closer to the fancy engraved doors, so he could confirm or deny that it was Henrietta’s voice. 

_“I wish to be only with you.”_ It was too quiet to distinguish whose voice it was. 

_“Me too, dear.”_ The startling resemblance of his brother’s voice made Philippe blink a couple of times and move even closer to the door. _“But this is the best I could think of.”_

There was no doubt. It was his brother’s voice. 

His curiosity won over Philippe, making him wait for the next person in the room with him to say something, so he could see what mistress his dearest brother took under his wing this time.

 _“I know, I just thought,”_ the faint woman’s voice was so unclear through the thick layer of wood, that the only way to even try to recognize her voice was to press his ear to the door and listen to it. _“That I wouldn’t have needed to marry your brother. That I could simply be in Versailles by your side.”_

Cold sweat droplets started to form on Philippe’s forehead, making him freeze and listen to the conversation that continued to go on between his brother and his soon to be wife.

 _“You know your father,”_ Louis said. _“He’s a clever man, he figured out that there were more than friendly conversations going on between us. He wants her daughter to be married, not to be a mistress of another married man.”_

 _“I know, I know.”_ A muffled sigh went through the wooden doors. _“Won’t your brother figure it out too?”_

 _“No,”_ the certainty in Louis' voice made Philippe heat up and blood boil. _“Eventually, he probably will, but now he’s oblivion to it. Besides, he won’t care about it even if he will figure it out; he’s in love with another. Chevalier.”_

That tipped him over the edge, feeling his blood reaching the highest boiling point, popping, and sizzling inside his veins. Philippe pushed the doors open, revealing his brother sitting on the bed with Henrietta. Their eyes shoot up at him, still unsure of what they're seeing. 

“I guess it didn’t take long enough for your plan to go the way you wanted.” Philippe was already spitting fire before any of them caught up with what was happening.

“Brother,” Louis started, but Philippe instantly interrupted him.

“Don’t call me that! Brother’s don’t do this to each other!” Philippe didn’t even bother to get any closer to them. “You thought that by forcing me to marry her.” He turned his gaze to Henrietta, who was still sitting unmoved, eyes at least twice as big. Bitterness washed over Philippe’s mouth. “You’ll be able to be with her and fuck her, even if you’re married?” 

“Stop, Philippe!” Louis protested and stood up from the bed. 

“Oh no, brother.” Poison was filling his mouth. “No, I’m not going to stop. If you want to fuck her, you’ll have to figure it out without my help.”

“Philippe, stop it right now! Close the doors!” 

“Don’t worry,” Philippe’s blood still simmered inside him, most of the steam he already released in the open. “I’m not going to stay any longer. Hope you’ll have a nice evening.”

Philippe turned on his heel, and without even bothering to close the doors behind him, he started to make his way to his suite, still tasting the remaining amount of poison that continued to swirl inside his mouth. 


	6. Sky fell that day

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy new year! I hope 2021 won't be as shitty as 2020.
> 
> It was a while since I updated this story, but I hope there's still someone interested to read it. Thank you for your encouragement and for sticking by, which pushed me to be creative and finish the new chapter. I hope you're all doing well.

The night was restless for both Philippe and Chevalier. However, while Chevalier was unable to drift to sleep because of the pulsating love for Philippe, which silently tried to manifest itself to a life-long commitment to his lover. Philippe was restless because of the realization that that may not be possible. The bubbling anger has already subsided, nevertheless, the image of his brother with his fiancé sitting on her bed stood in front of his eyes, pestering him till the sun was about to rise.

A harsh knock on his door awoke Philippe from a restless sleep, instantly feeling the weight of last night drop on his chest, reminiscence of the lack of oxygen throughout most of yesterday's ball. This time air wasn’t escaping Philippe’s lungs but lingered atop of his throat like it was threatening to choke him. 

“What?” Philippe forced a raspy sound out of his mouth.

“Your majesty.” Philippe heard an unfamiliar voice coming through the thick wooden door. “I came to fit you for your majesty’s wedding.”

Philippe sat up in his bed as soon as he heard him say it. Like it was clear what he was here for like it should be clear to Philippe too. 

“There won’t be no wedding." His words seemed unmovable.

“But, my majesty, I was told-“ The man was interrupted by a better-known voice.

“There will be a wedding.” 

The doors of Philippe’s suite opened up, and a sturdy figure of Louis XIV came inside and stationed himself few meters away from Philippe to emit just enough intimidation, making it seem like it’s Philippe’s own. It was masterful how Louis made people feel it all come from within, even though he was the one who chose their feelings. Even though Philippe knew his brother well (sometimes too well), Louis’ invisible intimidation tactic worked.

A few other people trickled into Philippe’s room, while Louis stood among them, looking at him with a gaze that could only be described as disappointing. The sudden rush of guilt ran through Philippe. It was his duty as a royal to do what was best for his country, not him. What would his father and mother think if they saw him now, not carrying out his royal commitments? 

Philippe looked around the now stuffed room. A wooden stool that swiftly became a table for the tailor, on which laid scissors of several sizes, boxes of needles, threats, and other gadgets. Philippe’s maids were quick to bring a full-body mirror closer to the tailor’s table and wooden steps in front of it for him to stand on. The buzz of people in the room was an organized dance; everyone knew their role. 

It’s astonishing how a single Louis’ glance unknowingly stung Philippe, forcing him to roll out of his bed and go towards his inevitable future as a loyal hound. 

His reflection in the mirror was warped beyond recognition. Who did Philippe turn into? 

_The tailor took his place behind his majesty. Another two servants stepped into the picture, carrying an unfolded jacket for Philippe to harness with, for an obedient dog he is._

His mind is warped too. Is this what he feels right to do, or is this what his brother wants him to do?

_Heavy fabric draped around Philippe’s shoulders, pinning him to the ground._

If he’ll refuse to carry out his obligations as king’s brother he’ll be deemed as a traitor of his country and its people. If Philippe will stand still, letting everything pass him as it 'meant to be' he’ll be faced with his own self, burying himself under, for the rest of his insignificant existence. 

_Sharp needles came in and out of the fabric, creating new seams that molded to Philippe as his new identity._

This is the end of him as he is. 

_Louis’ face emerged from behind Philippe, eyes stabbing every nerve of his, slowly but surely pushing him over. Over what? Over his convictions? Over his true feelings? Over the image of what Philippe sees in being a royal? Over himself?_

Philippe’s brother smiles as though someone would have tugged on the corners of his lips on command. He smiles back, letting him know he’s at the other side.

§

Philippe glided through the corridors of Versailles, searching for a refuge however, the buzz and bustle in every corner of the building and images of wedding attire rising from nothing hours before his life will change forever made Philippe nauseous. The only good he sees in his new reality is that no one seemed to notice him walking from room to room, desperately searching for salvation. 

How could his life be different if he didn't have to oblige to seek approval of his brother, his dead parents, France, and its people? Would Philippe feel free for the first time in his life and could finally exist without guilt gnawing at him like a piece of juicy steak? Could he be able to handle such freedom, no boundaries to miss-cross, no one to give him directions? These questions bounced in Philippe’s head, making unbearable noise that hour by hour dug themselves in his flesh. Only if there would be a place to silence his insides.

He continued to aimlessly drift from one room to another until he heard a familiar voice call his name in a whisper. 

“Philippe!” 

He turned his head to search for a face that was familiar as the voice. 

“Philippe, here!” The voice called again, this time louder, making Philippe twist his head in the opposite direction. 

An inviting smile and eyes full of life met him, pushing out all the questions that previously buzzed around in his head. He finally smiled for the first time in what felt like centuries. 

Chevalier stood in a secret hallway, when closed, blended into a wall. When Philippe finally moved towards Chevalier, he heard steps and care-free cackles of women coming towards them. Philippe started to run, and as soon as he landed in Chevalier’s embrace, the secret doors closed shut, leaving giggles behind them. 

Philippe’s heartbeat throbbed inside his chest. He could sense Chevalier’s pounding heart rest on his; he smiled, feeling them beat in sync like it meant to be. Philippe took in the smell of Chevalier, letting his lungs taking it in as his new source of oxygen. And before he knew, their hearts started to calm down, harmonizing calmness together. All along, Chevalier was _the_ place for Philippe. _Home._

“That was close,” Chevalier whispered, still afraid to get caught. 

He saw Philippe look up at him. Even though the secret hallway was lit only by a few candles, he couldn’t believe Philippe’s beauty. Everything felt so right. Philippe pressed against his chest, melting in each other, bringing peace to one another. Chevalier felt like the rest of the world around them stopped existing as soon as the doors closed behind them. Or maybe, that was Philippe that made him feel like that.

“Imagine their faces if –“ Philippe's words were lost between Chevalier's eager lips on his. 

Heat spread inside them, erupting and mixing with a putrid air that accumulated throughout weeks or even months of not being able to escape the secret labyrinths. Their hearts picked up their speed once again, sending fire down their veins. They tore away from each other’s mouths to breathe in before colliding yet again, creating another star in the universe. Maybe that’s what those sparkles in the night sky was, merely lovers withdrawn from the rest of the universe, creating their own. And as time passed by, they started to devour each other, becoming one, with synced hearts and breathing, a mutual sanctuary to come back to when the world seems too much.

-

They both sat on Philippe’s bed, searching for condolence in the presence of each other like it was the only thing that made sense right now. 

“Have you said anything to someone?” Chevalier asked like he walked on a thin layer of glass.

“To who?” And he was. “Besides, what I would say? That my brother’s mistress is my fiance? That this marriage is fraudulent? That I’m weak?”

Chevalier let out a deep sigh, realizing how stupid his question sounded in the grand scheme of things. “You’re right. Excuse me, that… that was foolish of me to think it was as simple as that.”

Silence settled between them, giving Chevalier not a lot of hope it will ever dissipate. 

Seeing Philippe haunted by his own duty pained Chevalier. Even though they sat right beside each other, it felt like there was no way for him to reach him. He guessed it was the fact that he was a mere court member, while Philippe – a son of a King, a brother of Louis XIV. Yet, it did felt more than that. Like he didn’t completely trust him, as though there was a wall between both of them. The realization hurt more than Chevalier expected. 

“It’s not like you would know how it really is,” Philippe said it without the intention to bite, yet, he did. 

“It would be easier to understand if you’d open up more.” 

“How exactly should I do that?” Philippe’s voice escalated with every word.

“Letting me know what’s happening!” Chevalier’s started to rise too, “Telling me that your brother is tricking you to marry her! Telling me she’s doing it with him! Coming to me not only to fuck but to talk too!”

The last sentence landed atop of them like a brick, settling inside their throats and stomach. Chevalier saw the lightning in Philippe’s eyes scatter, leaving them lifeless and tired. After all this time, Chevalier saw the wall crackle.

A round of knocks echoed through the royal suite, making both of them dart their eyes at the massive door that separated them from the rest. Without any warning, doors cracked open, exposing their intimate moment. 

Louis stepped into the room, bringing with him cool air that started to spread throughout the suite as soon as his feet landed on the floorboards, reviving fear inside Chevalier. When their eyes met, Louis' glare went through Chevalier as if he was see-through; nor Louis’ stoic stance nor his emotionless stare changed, making him feel unwanted.

As soon as Louis’ eyes shifted to look at his younger brother, he said, “we have to go through today’s agenda.”

“Can’t it wait?” 

Louis wasn’t lenient, making it clear who has the last word here. 

Philippe’s and Chevalier’s eyes met, sending him an unspoken sign to leave them alone.

Chevalier stood upon what seemed like cotton floors, his legs barely being able to hold up his weight. The sudden shift in the atmosphere made him question himself. Chevalier contemplated if this is how it always felt to be around Louis XIV. Before completely disappearing into the enormous palace, Chevalier bowed to his king, leaving the pressure behind but taking sorrow in exchange.

When Chevalier’s steps faded away, Louis interrupted the silence with a mocking tone, “I guess that’s your new toy, Chevalier?”

Philippe forced himself to swallow his come-back. “Why is it so urgent?” Philippe tried to change the subject before saying something forbidden. 

He was thankful his brother went with it. “The ceremony is an hour from now,” Louis said with such obviousness as though Philippe should have known that from the beginning. 

“Isn’t it suppose to be at four?” 

“It was moved,” Louis said, “I guess they forgot to report it to you.”

“I guess,” Philippe said it through clenched teeth, feeling something rumble in him.

“So we better not waste any time,” Louis turned to the door behind him that led to a workroom that Philippe usually used to hold meetings with military comrades, “there’s a lot to discuss.”

Philippe sat right in front of his brother while he laid out every detail of today and the rest of the week, as it’ll be dedicated to Henrietta’s and Philippe's union celebration throughout Versailles and the whole nation. Every single word he spoke drove deeper and deeper into him. Philippe begged for the floor underneath him to open up and swallow him whole.

“The last and most important detail of today is your intercourse with your wife.” Louis continued, “It is very important for you to make sure there’s an intimate act after the ceremony.”

Philippe started to sink into the ground, feeling himself losing his autonomy. 

Now there gapped two holes: the one in the ground through which he dropped into a dark pit, and one going straight through him. And he’s not sure there’s a way to fill it up after losing everything: his life, himself, and his _true love_ , Chevalier.

§ 

Philippe stood in front of a minister with aching heart beside his soon to be wife, Henrietta, under the weight of Royal Chapel’s roof, reminding him of a familiar heaviness.

Philippe remembers going to the church with his mother ‘exchange few words with God', she would say in a faint whisper, as to not disturb the peace. The only times he remembers her mother truly happy and peaceful is when she kneeled to the God she so dearly loved (perhaps, even more than her sons). Val-de-Grâce church back in Paris wasn’t as royally suffocating as the Royal Chapel, yet, he still reminisces on the sudden weight that little him felt fall on his shoulders that steadily turned into fears. Philippe presumed it was because of giant spaces that felt oh so confined, or that was just his childish imagination. 

“God has created marriage to create families, to preserve the ideal of a relationship between a man and a woman, who will be the stepping stones for those after them,” minister’s words echoed in the open chapel that now resurfaced the fear that nibbled at Philippe when he was only six. He assumes it never actually left him. “We are designed to God’s image, and we must peruse his wish to marry, create a family that will lead the next generation.” 

Philippe isn’t sure what he was afraid of when he was six. His mother’s and father's disappointment? God? Ideal that Philippe knew he couldn’t fulfill? If yes, then 21-year-old Philippe hasn't been able to conquer his fears. Because deep down, he knew that the ideal that everyone hoped to see come to life wasn’t him and never will be.

“Today, we are here to celebrate another union that will bring glory to God and will lead us to glory.” 

Philippe’s hands loosely hung right beside him, as well as Henrietta’s, holding their stance against what felt like the whole universe. However, it suddenly collided with the walls they build around each other, making it collapse on itself, forcing them to reach out for each other’s hands. 

Minister’s voice bubbled underneath a thick layer that dropped on Philippe without mercy. Yet, he went on doing everything he’s told, what it seemed, on autopilot: taking both of Henrietta’s hands in his own, taking a ring from minister’s hands and sliding it on a slender Henrietta’s ring finger, feeling the seal strengthening with each moment. Minister’s voice followed as soon as Henrietta put a ring on Philippe’s finger.

“With God-given powers, I pronounce you husband and wife.”

They turned to the audience that came to witness not two souls but two countries coming together and France strengthening its steal grip on Europe. Their smiles and joyful ovations took a bite out of Philippe as Henrietta of England and him made their way down the aisle. 

His eyes clashed with his elder brother's, whose smile seemed to lean more to one side. A smile of a victorious man getting exactly what he wanted. Philippe saw animal-like desire lighting up in Louis’ eyes when he flashed his eyes to a young woman that now he should probably call his wife. Their eye contact lingered on each other, making this marriage seem even more of a farce. Philippe’s hand that wore his life's sentence on a ring finger got heavier and heavier with every step. He couldn’t stop walking. He had to walk forward. 

While Philippe was searching for the strength to keep walking towards his new reality, his eyes found their way to a familiar face among the nobles that extended in all directions. Chevalier’s eyes were duller than usual, emitting not even half of the life they usually do. The invisible ropes of sorrow that stretched across the massive space between them started to pull on Philippe like nothing else before. He wanted to rush into Chevalier’s embrace, feel his chest against his, search for his plush lips in desperation, and lock their destinies together, as it meant to be. 

However, these ropes were made of brittle vines that crackled as soon as he turned his back to Chevalier and stepped outside of the Royal Chapel. And even though above him there was no roof to press him against the ground, for some reason, the feeling didn’t fade away even underneath a vast sky.


End file.
